Of My Heart's Desires
by hasapi
Summary: [WIP] Eleven years after she chose Harry over Draco and her father, Hermione would again be forced to decide between what she wants...and what is right. Finally, the sequel to 'The Secrets of My Heart'.
1. Prologue: Dreams of the Past

Author's Note: Yes, my dearies, this is it-- the long-awaited sequel to The Secrets of My Heart. It's taking a bit of a different turn than I had originally imagined, but then again... What doesn't?

_Prologue_

Hermione was running down the corridor, trying to escape it. Him. There was no reason to try... he was going to get her in the end, why not just give up now? Save her strength to fight another day. _No!_ her mind screamed. If she didn't escape now, she never would.

Her legs ran faster, and still the unseen person gained on her, and she was thrown to the ground. She screamed--

And was jerked awake by her husband. "Hermione!" Harry whispered urgently. When he saw she was awake, he breathed a sigh of relief, running a thumb across her cheek, collecting the tears which had come with the dream. He frowned. "It was that dream again wasn't it?"

She nodded, looking away.

Harry drew in a shuddering breath. "I am so sorry... it's my fault. All my fault..."

Her head snapped back to him and she cupped his face urgently. "No, it was not your fault! It was never your fault. There was nothing you could have done."

He looked at her, knowing she truly believed that. He had never believed it though. Harry blamed himself for the dreams that kept her awake at night, knowing if he had just been stronger, she wouldn't have to live in the fear that always came in the dreams' wake, even when, the next morning, a cement brick wouldn't have been able to shake her solid foundation.

If only...


	2. Chapter 01: Remember When

_**Of My Heart's Desires**_

Chapter 01: Remember When

Hermione folded up the sweater she had just taken off, laying it over the back of the rocking chair in her living room. She had just returned from Harry's flat, having spent the night there again. There was _Daily Prophet_, on the table, something she couldn't wait to look at to see if they had found anymore Death Eaters. She would even be interested to learn if they'd found anymore juicy tidbits about hers and Harry's relationship. Not that there were many—but then again, she supposed that depended on your evaluation of "juicy tidbits."

She walked into the kitchen, rubbing her arms briskly and shutting the window against the November chill. If only the owls would learn how to shut windows behind themselves, all would be perfect in the world. Hermione smiled, shaking her head, and opened the refrigerator door to get a carton of orange juice and poured herself a glass, getting a tall one from the drying rack beside the sink. She never bothered to eat breakfast at Harry's house; there never was anything edible. The man barely ever shopped, and when he did, he filled the pantry with donuts and pastries.

It wasn't that bad for someone like him, who was constantly active. When he wasn't practicing with his Quidditch team, he was running away from the adoring populace or making his way to some new dedication. Plus, he still had a metabolism that stumped her completely.

She smiled slightly, setting her orange juice on the kitchen table and seating herself. The _Prophet_ was looking thinner; she supposed they had finally run out of news. It seemed impossible, considering how thick it had been during her years at Hogwarts, but that must have been because of everything that had been going on with Voldemort. Ten years after their belated graduation from Hogwarts, everything was near idyllic. Birth rates were up, deaths were down, and the savior of the Wizarding World seemed to be leading Britain to its third World Cup victory in three years.

Everyone had been so shocked when Harry had decided to try for professional Quidditch rather than becoming an Auror. Even Professor McGonagall had expressed her amazement, considering how much he had wanted to become one for so long. But, as Harry had explained to her, if he had to witness anymore suffering, anymore fighting, he would probably be driven to suicide.

She had laughed a little, wondering just how truthful that statement was. She had often wondered the same thing herself.

Still, none of what had happened with Voldemort had influenced the way she now lived her life. At least, that was what she told herself. But she knew that it had, of course, because who could find out that Voldemort was her natural father and not be changed by that? Who could find out that she was Albus Dumbledore's great-great-great-great-granddaughter and not wonder what might have been?

But instead of the whole thing putting her off becoming an Auror, it had only intensified the want and the need. She now knew that she needed to stop people from committing crimes, or at the very least, make sure they were made to pay for what they had done. At least once a year, she still had nightmares about finding Amanda Madley in the corridor with Flint, and what might have happened if she hadn't gotten there when she did.

Most of all, however, what had influenced her was Draco Malfoy. She had wondered, at first, at his complete turnabout since discovering she was a Pureblood, and Voldemort's daughter at that. But then she had started to remember incidents throughout their past: their first meeting, on the Hogwarts Express; the time when she had seen him after hours in the library; when she had slapped him, and he had seemed so shocked—and yet she had also seen the faintest glimmer of respect in his eyes. For some reason, she had never felt that they had parted at the last on bad terms. She always remembered their final meeting as being somewhat like old friends.

_Malfoy inclined his head as he watched her from his seat, bound as he was to it. She sat silently, allowing her eyes to rest on him briefly before moving back to the leader of the Wizengamot, an elderly wizard who nonetheless seemed to possess limitless energy. His eyes, half-hidden behind spectacles, seemed to squint as he said, "It is the judgment of this court that Draco Lucius Malfoy is hereby condemned of his sins against Wizard and Mugglekind, and his use of the Unforgivables. He is to spend a life sentence in Azkaban with no chance for parole."_

_There was a murmur of disagreement among the spectators. They, Hermione assumed, wished the sentence would have been the Dementor's Kiss. There were people, however, who had spoken out on Malfoy's behalf, and successfully used their force with the Ministry to make certain Malfoy would at least still be alive. _

_The guard came up and prepared to take Malfoy away. Hermione began to climb down from the stands, smiling absently at Neville, with whom she had been sitting. She had mentioned to him before that she would be leaving early, so he saw nothing odd about her getting up now. She walked two paces behind Malfoy and his guard, following them out into the hallway. _

"_Excuse me," she said to the guard, "Do you mind if I have a word with Mr. Malfoy?"_

_The guard stopped and turned to her, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not leaving him, miss."_

"_I understand that," she said. "I just wanted you to stop." She took a deep breath. "Malfoy."_

_Resentful to the end, he raised a brow. "Granger."_

_She let out a rush of breath. How dare he act as he did? He was the one who had kissed her, not the other way around. She hadn't done anything wrong. Why did he expect her to be on his side when his side was the wrong one? "I suppose we won't be seeing each other again, then."_

"_Granger, never say something like that to me," he said, his eyes gleaming. "I might take it as a challenge."_

_Hermione simply stared at him, at the person she had thought she had known. He had changed over the past year, just as she'd thought he had changed in the few months they had been at Hogwarts, with Voldemort in power. It seemed unreal that thisâman, had once been a boy who had seemed ready to cry at her leaving him. She turned and walked away. "Goodbye, Malfoy."_

"_Au revoir, Hermione," he whispered as the guard began to walk him away again._

She had wondered, at the time, of his use of _au revoir_, rather than "goodbye," or even, "fuck off." Now she understood.

En route to Azkaban, his boat had disappeared. His body had never been found, and neither had the guards who had been assigned to him. One day later, his wand, which had been locked up in the Auror department of the Ministry, had disappeared, as had several Dark objects located in the same vault.

There was no doubt in her mind that he had escaped. Of course, the media had downplayed it, hoping to make certain that everyone believed the world to be safe. Knowing that Voldemort's former second-in-command was on the loose would never have been classified as "safe." It had been generally assumed that he had been caught fairly quickly, and had been disposed of. However, because she was an Auror, she now knew that although they had roughly ten percent of the entire force devoted to looking for him, after ten years they still had not located him. Occasionally they would find a link, but it would usually be an old one. A hotel he had stayed at three years ago, or a Dark object he had sold when he'd first escaped.

None of the information ever led them anywhere, and Hermione often wondered just how much it had all been planned. But he couldn't have been that smart, could he?

The thing that had puzzled her most, however, was what had happened in the nine months between the time she had left, and the time when Harry had defeated Voldemort. When she had left, he had yet to receive the Dark Mark; he had seemed more humanitarian than homicidal. And yet, when he had finally been brought in—by no less than three Aurors—he had been charged with five counts of Unforgivables, chief among them being _Avada Kedavra_, and thirteen counts of torture, three of which had been on Muggles.

Hermione shook herself loose from her thoughts and unfolded the newspaper, reading the headlines and rolling her eyes. Hogwarts was getting a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, the Minister of Magic's daughter was getting married to Viktor Krum's younger brother, and she and Harry were "on" again.

The media had always had a field day with hers and Harry's relationship. It was very tumultuous. They had been together for one year and three months the first time, which had started just two days after they had left Hogwarts. They had started discussing getting married, having childrenâ And then they'd had an argument. She couldn't remember what about; they'd had so many that resulted in a break-up that she couldn't keep them straight anymore. After their first break-up, they'd tried dating other people. Harry had dated Ginny for a month before she broke up with him. Hermione had gone on a few blind dates arranged by well-meaning friends—primarily Lavender and Rhina, a Ravenclaw who had been in the same year as she and Harry in school.

Five months after the first break-up, they'd gotten back together again. That time they had stayed together for three years. After four months they had moved in together. At nine months, they had secretly gotten married. Then, on their third year anniversary, they'd had another fight, and had gone into a separation.

Many fights and separations later, they were still married. She supposed they were "separated" now, as they were living in different flats, but they were in the "on-again" portion of their relationship. She had stopped worrying about how unhealthy it was back in their fifth year, when she realized that with everything they had both been through, particularly in their seventh year, they probably would never be able to settle down comfortably as if they were a normal couple. There would always be a volatile streak in their relationship, brought on by Ron's death and the time they had spent struggling to rebuild the Wizarding World and fight Voldemort.

There were times when she lay awake at night, thinking back to everything she had learned about him. About Voldemort. About how her mother had loved him, despite everything he had done. About how she had felt that she could almost love him. How similar she and her father seemed at times. How fickle and how single-minded they both could be, but with different mind-sets. But she knew that no love he may have felt for her mother made it all right to do everything he had done, particularly in those last few months. The tortures and the deaths that had happened were horrid, and she couldn't believe that the men she'd thought she'd known could have done such things.

She didn't care that he was her father. When Harry had cast the spell that had killed him, she had been glad. Glad that she no longer had to deal with any turmoil within her about his being her father, worrying people would find out, wondering what might happen. She and Harry had never told anyone, and the other Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs who had made it out alive had been sworn to secrecy. With the Slytherins, it hadn't mattered; no one believed a word that came out of their mouths. Besides, who would believe that Hermione Granger was the daughter of Voldemort? It seemed impossible, implausible, and downright unbelievable.

Hermione shook her head again, and laid down the paper, finishing off her orange juice. It would be time to get to work soon, so she had better take a bath and get dressed for it. No one got there before ten a.m., in any case, but Hermione wanted to be there early because today was the first day she was being transferred to a case she had wanted to be on for the past eight years.

Draco Malfoy's.


End file.
